


The Fallen

by ArtemisPendragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Angst, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Bandits & Outlaws, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon Era, Elyan Lives (Merlin), First Kiss, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin) Lives, Love Confessions, M/M, Merlin Dies (Merlin), Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Knights (Merlin), Regret, Shock, Temporary Character Death, Vomiting, Whump, as a treat, just a little, no beta we die like knights, tags to be added as i think of them, they will be in no particular order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27536953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisPendragon/pseuds/ArtemisPendragon
Summary: A hunting trip. A bad feeling. An ambush.An arrow, straight through the chest.Merlin is dead. Until he isn’t.
Relationships: Gwaine & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 1170
Collections: Merthur Fics





	The Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up, kiddos. This one's got some major whump.
> 
> Warnings for blood, gore, death, grief, and all that jazz.
> 
> [Minor edits for grammar, flow, and small details.]

The forest just outside Camelot proper was quiet, despite the half-dozen knights on horseback with crossbows in their hands, leather-sheathed swords swinging at their sides, and quivers full of bolts rattling on their backs. Arthur, having gone just a bit mad during the week-long rainstorm that had lifted only just that morning, had ordered his most trusted knights (and Merlin, of course) to saddle up and accompany him on a hunt in order to work off the excess energy that had built up during their forced stay within the castle walls. 

Their horses, despite being freshly-shoed, were having trouble keeping their footing in the thick mud. Soon their bellies and flanks were covered in dense, wet muck, making them nicker and snort in irritation. Merlin sensed their unease but could hardly ask to halt the hunting party so he could clean off their mounts. The horses would soon get muddy again, and they couldn’t afford to delay the hunt by stopping every hour to wipe them down. Merlin could only hope that Arthur quickly found whatever he was in the mood to bring down today. A stag, most likely, as it was his favorite game. 

Arthur was quick to blame the rain for the lack of anything to hunt. Merlin secretly agreed. The animals were all likely hiding in their warm, dry homes, and Merlin envied them for it. If it was up to him, they’d all be back in the castle, curled up by a fire and drinking mulled wine.

They continued to trudge through the cold mud for a few more hours. Despite the sun reaching its peak, barely any warmth reached their small hunting party. It may have been late enough in the season for rain, but winter was stubbornly refusing to concede to spring. When they had set out earlier that morning, their breaths had fogged in the air, creating tiny clouds that were dwarfed by the dull, steel-grey skies overhead. 

Merlin, still unused to long journeys in the saddle, even after nearly seven years in Arthur’s service, winced as his horse, Juniper, stumbled over a particularly slick patch of earth. She didn’t fall, but the nearness of it turned her jumpy. He ran his hand down her neck and murmured soft, soothing words to her. She was a mild-mannered mare, a dapple-grey thoroughbred from Arthur’s stables, perfectly suited for inexperienced riders. Merlin had quickly grown fond of her, and he spoiled her rotten, according to Arthur. 

She nickered softly at his reassurances, soon regaining her courage. Merlin smiled and continued to pat her as he looked around. Fat, heavy drops of water pattered onto the ground beneath the trees, having gathered on the leaves until they became too heavy to bear. Merlin watched in amusement as one fell, with perfect aim, down the back of Arthur’s armor and onto his bare skin. The king shuddered and bit back an undignified yelp. 

Gwaine, however, was not obligated to act in any courtly way, so he laughed at Arthur’s startled expression. He earned a friendly glove to the face for that, and, in a demonstration of great maturity and nobility, Gwaine took off his own gloves and hurled them back at Arthur. 

Merlin shot a look at Lance, who was chuckling at their antics. The knight looked back at the servant and shrugged helplessly, as if to say, _“What can you do?”_ Merlin simply rolled his eyes and huffed. With his luck, he’d be the one fetching the two of them new pairs from the glove-maker when they returned to Camelot. Just another chore to add to his endless list. 

Another hour passed by with little fanfare. A few of the knights managed to bring down some rabbits and pheasants, but there was no sign of the stag that Arthur was hoping for. As the day wore on, the game grew scarcer, and an uneasy feeling settled in Merlin’s gut.

It was mid-afternoon when the hunting party stepped into a large clearing. They hadn’t seen any animals for at least half an hour, not even a songbird, and the unease in Merlin had grown. Something must have scared them all off before the knights could get there. 

He kicked his heels into Juniper’s flanks, riding up towards the front of the group to come level with Arthur. “Something doesn’t feel right,” he murmured, scanning the treeline that ringed the clearing. 

“Another one of your funny feelings, Merlin?” Arthur asked, keeping his voice low, although there wasn’t much of a teasing tone to his voice. He had learned over the years that Merlin’s instincts were sharper than even some of his best knights’, and that not taking them seriously usually resulted in his own misfortune.

“It’s too quiet,” the servant explained. Arthur cursed himself for not realizing it earlier. He’d been too focused on tracking and hunting to take stock of his surroundings. Of _course_ Merlin would have noticed. “Even in early spring, there should be some birdsong, or squirrels in the trees, or _something_.”

“You’re thinking they’re hiding,” he guessed, and was rewarded with a nod. 

“I doubt we’re the only ones to take advantage of the better weather.” 

Arthur nodded back to him, then held up his hand to signal to the knights to stop. They and their horses stood at the edge of the meadow, breathing in air that was suddenly thick with tension. 

“What is it, sire?” Leon asked, his back and shoulders rigid. 

“Don’t know,” Arthur said in a quiet voice. “Spread out, check for footprints or other signs that someone else was here before us. Lancelot, take Percival and-” 

Arthur was interrupted by the war cries of the nearly two dozen men who erupted from the other side of the clearing, armed with scavenged weapons and murderous intent. 

The knights swiftly dismounted from their horses, and Merlin made to follow them, only for his foot to get caught in a stirrup. He fell with a startled cry onto the ground. His nose exploded in pain upon contact. It was definitely broken. He didn’t have time to worry about it right now, though. The bandits were quickly approaching, and he was still trapped. Using his natural flexibility (and a touch of magic), he wriggled free of the stirrup and scrambled for the treeline, where he would hopefully be able to hide until the bandits were defeated. 

Luckily for him, the knights managed to intercept any bandits who may have otherwise come after him. He saw Elyan step in front of a nasty-looking brute of a man and parry his sword, drawing his attention away from the unarmed servant. He sent the man a silent thanks. _I’ll have to buy him drinks once we get back,_ he thought wildly, the rest of him too driven by instinct and adrenaline to filter his thinking. 

He’d almost reached the trees when he heard it - the soft twang of a bowstring releasing its tension, the whistle of an arrow cutting through the air, and the deep, sudden _thunk_ of the projectile finding its target. There was a scream from behind him, and he desperately hoped that whatever knight had been struck wasn’t hurt too badly. 

He went to take another step, but suddenly, his legs failed him, and he again went toppling to the ground. He just barely managed to catch himself on his forearms, the impact jarring his entire upper body. His vision went white as agony tore across his chest, and he coughed thickly as nausea rose in his throat. When he looked down, a smattering of red had joined the mud on the ground, and he wondered dimly who had been wounded. 

The din of the ambush faded away. Pain continued to choke him, and he whimpered as each breath brought another wave of fresh, fiery torture. His arms soon gave out, and he landed cheek-first in the wet mud. More coughs wracked his body, and each time his lungs spasmed, more blood mingled with the wetness of the earth. Was… was _he_ the one who’d been injured? It made sense, what with the pain and all. 

But there was an odd disconnect between his body and mind, and he was having trouble realizing that something had gone wrong. All he knew was the cool, soft mud under his body, the distant sounds of clashing swords and panicked yells, and the gentle, warm whuff of Juniper’s breath on the back of his neck as she stood over him. 

“‘S alright, June,” he slurred, sensing her distress. “‘M gonna be okay. Don’t… Don’t even feel it much anymore, see?” he said. The pain was slowly dwindling, and the logical part of him, the part that had been trained as a physician, was screaming, telling him, _No! It’s not okay! You’re bleeding out, idiot!_ Odd. That last bit sounded like Arthur. 

Juniper nickered and nudged his hand, which had fallen by his shoulder when his arms lost their strength. “Good girl,” Merlin whispered. He tried to reach out and pet her nose, but the effort was too great, and his hand fell back to the ground. 

The edges of his vision were starting to dim. Vaguely, he could tell that the skirmish was winding down, that the knights were quickly driving the bandits back. A ball of warmth lit up his heart as he watched them with pride. 

With the bandits taken care of, Merlin knew he could rest for a bit. Arthur would be over to wake him up soon. The pain had fatigued him, and he felt weighed down by cold and exhaustion. His eyelids slid closed-

Only to be jolted awake as a pair of strong, frantic hands shook him awake. He didn’t even have the energy to open his eyes. A groan of pain and tiredness slipped through his lips. As though through a fog, he heard his name being yelled. 

“Merlin! Merlin, wake up! Don’t do this to me! Open your eyes, _please!_ Merlin!” 

Huh. That was Arthur’s voice. He sounded… distressed. Was it because Merlin had fallen from his horse? That had been embarrassing. He didn’t really feel like being teased for it, especially in his pained state. 

Regardless, Merlin’s eyes fluttered open, and he saw that someone had rolled him onto his side. He looked up and was surprised to see the knights all gathered around him, with Arthur kneeling beside him. When had that happened? 

Despite the agony it caused him, Merlin took a deep breath and tried to speak. “R’thur,” he wheezed, feeling something hot and wet trickle past his lips and down his chin. The knights fell silent, and then all Merlin could see was Arthur’s tear-stained face. Why was he crying? Was one of the knights hurt?

“Merlin, you’ve got to hold on. We’re- we’re going to get you to Gaius. He’ll patch you up in no time, okay?”

“Sire-” That was Percival, sounding grim.

“But you just have to keep your eyes open until we get back. If you don’t, I’ll- I’ll double your chores for a week,” he threatened as fresh tears streamed down his face. Merlin felt someone tightly grip his hand, and it took him a moment to realize that it was Arthur doing that, too. “So just- just stay awake for me, _please._ ”

The ghost of a smile lifted Merlin’s lips just a trace. “Prat,” he whispered, and Arthur barked out a manic, sobbing laugh. 

Lancelot stepped forwards and put his hand on the king’s shoulder. There was wetness brewing in his eyes. “Arthur-”

“NO!” he suddenly cried, causing all the knights to take a step back. “No, he can’t- I can’t accept it! There must be something…” 

“The arrow’s too deep, Arthur. It’s pierced his heart. There’s nothing to be done,” Leon said gently, his voice thick. 

Arthur froze as the words sunk in. “No. No, no, no.” A pained sound came from his throat, and he gathered Merlin into his arms, despite the shaft of the arrow protruding from between his shoulder-blades. 

Merlin groaned quietly at the jostling, but nearly all the pain had gone now. The world was growing dark and grey. His glassy eyes turned to Arthur, who was sobbing openly above him. 

“‘R’thur,” he wheezed again, using some of the last of his strength to squeeze his hand. Arthur inhaled shakily and shook his head. “Look a’ me. Please,” he pleaded. 

Arthur sobbed again and gazed down at Merlin, who smiled weakly back up at him, his teeth stained red. “‘M glad you’re here,” he whispered, each breath rattling in his chest. “Tell Gaius… ‘n’ my mum… ‘m sorry. ‘N’ Arthur... “ Merlin was gasping for air now, drowning as his lungs filled with blood. “R’thur,” he choked. He turned bright, golden-blue eyes to his king. “Love… you…” 

Then his eyes slipped closed, and the last thing he saw was Arthur, weeping, as the darkness claimed him.

☽☉☾

Percival was the one to suggest wrapping Merlin in one of their cloaks for the journey back to Camelot. Gwaine volunteered his own, stating thickly that it was the least he could do for him. Arthur and Leon carefully removed the arrow before they could wrap him, and Arthur nearly threw up at the sound it made as it left his body. He distracted himself by maneuvering Merlin’s arms so they laid across his chest. 

_He’s already cold,_ Arthur noticed with a lurch. He shouldn’t have been surprised; after all, he had seen men bleed out in battle before, and they were always the first to grow stiff. But Merlin wasn’t one of the knights. He was a servant. He _never_ should have been part of the hunting trip in the first place. He should have been back in the castle, tidying Arthur’s quarters and fetching him dinner for when they returned. 

But he wasn’t. And now he was dead. 

Arthur stumbled away, unable to hold back the vomit that burned his throat and eyes. He retched into the bushes at the edge of the clearing, emptying his stomach of the stew that Merlin had made them all for lunch. 

_He's never going to cook for us again._

The thought made a new wave of nausea pass through him, and he doubled over, sobbing once more as bile and tears fell to the ground. 

Behind him, Percival lifted Merlin into his arms and, with utmost care, placed him gently on Juniper’s back. Elyan used a length of rope from his pack to secure him in place, unable to stop the tears that spilled down his cheeks. God, Gwen was going to be _devastated_. He looked over at Lancelot, who, going by his stricken expression, seemed to be having the same thoughts. 

Gwaine approached the trembling king and stood beside him as Arthur wiped the sick from his chin. “We- We need to get going, sire,” Gwaine said, scrubbing roughly at the wetness in his eyes that had already run in rivers down his cheeks. “We’re half a day from Camelot. If we don’t leave now, we’ll have to set up camp at some point and stay the night.”

Arthur straightened and swallowed his sobs. “I can’t… Gwaine, I can’t face Gaius. Not yet. This is going to _break_ him.” He looked back at the clearing and shook his head. “But I can’t sleep here. Not where Merlin-” His voice wobbled, and he found himself unable to finish his sentence.

“I understand, sire. I don’t think any of us could sleep here tonight. We passed through a few other meadows on the way. I’m sure we can reach one before sundown,” Gwaine said, his voice far gentler than Arthur had ever heard it before. 

Arthur nodded. “Tell the others the plan. I just… need a moment.” 

Gwaine squeezed Arthur’s upper arm, then turned around and headed back towards the horses and the rest of their hunting party. 

Arthur let out a shaking breath and rubbed his eyes, which were red and puffy and dry. They stung at the contact, and he winced slightly. He knew he looked a mess, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not with Merlin-

Arthur shuddered. Merlin was dead. It happened too quickly to do anything but watch. Arthur had just struck down the leader of the bandits when he saw an archer, hidden in the shadows of the trees, let loose an arrow. He watched it cut through the air, feeling as though time had slowed, and saw as it lodged itself in Merlin’s back, its flight stopped as it met his sternum. 

He knew he had screamed, had yelled Merlin’s name as the servant toppled over into the mud and grass. Everything after that was a bit of a haze. The next thing he knew, he was falling to his knees at Merlin’s side and begging him to still be alive. He’d denied the reality of the situation during Merlin's last few moments, and he already regretted it. 

He hadn’t even had time to tell Merlin he loved him back. 

Arthur inhaled shakily and swallowed back the flood of emotions that was squeezing his heart. He couldn’t afford to have another breakdown, not when the knights were relying on his guidance. They needed him to be strong right now, and if Uther had taught him anything, it was how to show no emotion, even when he was dying inside. 

The knights eyed him as he strode back over. He gave them all a solemn nod. “Is- Is he secure?” he asked Elyan, who nodded back. 

“We all checked. He’s not going anywhere, sire.” 

“Good. Good,” he repeated, running his soaked fingers through his hair, unaware that the blond strands were being streaked with Merlin’s blood. “We need to move if we’re to find a place to camp before nightfall.”

“I remember seeing a clearing about two hours back,” Percival intoned steadily, despite the tears that stained his face. “It should do.”

“Good. Let’s go,” Arthur ordered, and the knights all mounted their horses. Arthur took Juniper’s reins from Lancelot with a nod of thanks, then led her - and Merlin’s body - to the center of the group so that she was protected on all sides. If anything happened to Merlin’s beloved horse, Arthur wasn’t sure if he would be able to forgive himself. 

The hunting party set off at a sedate pace, retracing their steps from earlier that morning. None of them were eager to get back to the citadel before the next day. Arthur trusted his knights to keep a lookout for any danger; he was too consumed by thoughts of how he was ever going to explain this to Gaius and Hunith. He knew that, no matter what, he would extend an invitation for Hunith to come live in Camelot. It was the least he could do for Merlin’s mother. 

Just over two hours later, the knights came upon the meadow. The sun was just starting to set, so they quickly set up camp and made a fire before they lost the last of the daylight. Leon got started on cooking a few of the rabbits they had brought down earlier, and Arthur had to look away as the senior knight did the tasks that should have been done by Merlin. 

Once they had all eaten a modest dinner and laid out their bedrolls by the fire, Percival got up and gestured wordlessly to Gwaine, who stood and joined him by the horses. Arthur watched the two men untie Merlin from his horse, check that the makeshift shroud was still in place, then settle the body of their friend on the edges of the camp. Arthur’s heart ached fiercely, and he found himself going over to them. 

Percival was murmuring something soothing to Gwaine when Arthur approached, and the two knights bowed their heads to him before joining the others by the fire, leaving Arthur alone with Merlin’s body. 

Arthur slowly sat down on the ground by Merlin’s head and exhaled softly, running his fingers over Merlin’s covered face. Even under the layers of cloth from Gwaine’s cloak, he could still see Merlin’s high cheekbones and sharp jawline. “God, Merlin,” Arthur croaked, his voice no louder than a whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. This never should have happened, least of all to you.” He gently pulled Merlin’s body into his lap, idly but gently stroking his thumb over his cheek. “I never got to tell you how I feel about you. Hell, you probably died thinking your affections were unrequited. But that couldn’t be more wrong.” 

He bent over and pressed a soft kiss against his forehead, a whimper hitching in his throat. “How am I supposed to live without you, Merlin? You were going to be my side forever. And now-” His voice broke, and he buried his face against Merlin’s chest, his chest and shoulders shaking from the force of his sobs. “I was- I was going to- to tell you- when we got back-” he choked, “I- I knew about- y-your magic. Ever since the- the Perilous Lands- The bridge keeper- he called you Magic-” Arthur clutched Merlin tighter, the shroud soaked with his tears. “I- I never got to- to thank you- for everything you- you’ve done. 

“I never- got to tell you- I’ve been work- working on new laws to- to lift the ban on magic- You were going to- going to be my court sorcerer-” Another sob, louder than the last. “For your people- for the druids- for you, Merlin- all for you.”

More shudders wracked his body as he wept for a future that now never could be.

Soon, the emotional toll of the day caught up with the king, and he laid down on the hard earth, his arms curled protectively around Merlin’s body, and fell into a dreamless sleep, his face still stained by tears. 

☽☉☾

“Should we wake him?”

“Yeah. We need to get to Camelot soon. Gaius needs to know.”

“Fuck. Look at him. He’s never going to recover from this.” 

“None of us are.”

“I heard him break down last night. Gods, I can’t imagine…”

“I can’t blame him. If this had been Gwen, I’d be reacting the same way.” 

“Is it true that he’s going to change the laws?”

“I’ve seen the papers on his desk. He was planning on presenting them to the council when we got back.” 

“Bloody hell.”

The steady murmur of familiar voices trickled in and out of his awareness. Although he could see nothing - _and wasn’t that cause for concern_ \- he could feel the earth beneath him, the sun above him, and someone’s arms around him. There was a solid warmth behind him as well, and he assumed it was the owner of the arms. 

The blanket that covered him was wrapped very tightly, so he could only take small, shallow breaths. He knew better than to panic, though. Instead, he focused on his other senses. The blanket smelled vaguely of horse, damp earth, and, of all things, ale. Had Gwaine given him his spare? 

As a matter of fact, what happened to him? He scrunched up his brow as he tried to kick his sluggish brain into gear. Something _had_ happened, he knew, but it was like trying to find a word that was on the tip of one’s tongue. He soon grew frustrated, so he gave up on his endeavor and decided to listen to what was being said. 

“...on his horse, at least.”

“Shouldn't we wake Arthur first?”

“I have a feeling it’ll be easier to pry Merlin from him while he’s still asleep, anyways. Or would you rather try to talk him into it once he’s awake?” 

“Alright, fine. But if Arthur wakes up in a rage, I’m not gonna be the one getting punched first thing in the morning.”

“Brave as ever, Gwaine.”

Merlin suddenly felt a new pair of hands on him, and he went rigid in surprise as he was lifted off the ground. The arms that had been around him slid off, and Merlin found himself oddly missing them. Had they really been Arthur’s? Why was he being held like that by the king? Not that he would complain about it, of course, but it was definitely odd. It must have had something to do with whatever happened to him before he woke. 

The journey in the new person’s arms - he was pretty sure it was Percival’s - was brief, and he soon found himself seated in a saddle. _What in the world?_

“I’ll secure him. Leon? You’ve known Arthur the longest. You’re probably our best bet for waking him up without him getting mad.” 

“Fine. But you lot owe me a round at the Rising Sun for this.”

The words stirred something in him, and Merlin suddenly remembered thinking the same thing about Elyan when the knight drew a bandit away from him in the clearing. 

Everything else came back to him in a rush. The hunt, the ambush, the arrow in his back, dying in Arthur’s arms-

Merlin gasped at the same time as he felt a rope wind around his middle and get pulled tight. A bit too tight, just like the cloth he was swaddled in, almost as though they expected him to be-

Dead. 

He’d died. There had been an arrow in his heart, blood in his lungs, and tears in Arthur’s eyes. And then there had been nothing. No fear, no pain. He'd slipped away in the blink of an eye and returned just as quickly. It seemed that quick to him, anyway. He had no idea how long it had actually been. Long enough for one of the knights to wrap him in a cloak for transport back to Camelot, at any rate. 

He took stock of the situation as best he could, given that he couldn’t see through the fabric covering him and rendering him immobile. He heard the knights breaking down their camp and packing everything back onto the horses. There was Leon’s quiet voice, reluctant and gentle, rousing the king. One of the horses stamped their hoof impatiently, eager to get going after a night of rest. The ground was still mostly mud, and Merlin heard a pair of boots trudge through it. 

He was taken by surprise yet again when he felt a hand on his knee. “Merlin.” Oh, it was Lancelot. Merlin’s heart ached at the grief in his friend’s voice. “I’m so sorry. I should have kept an eye on you during the fight. I should have seen the archer. I should have- dammit!” Lance suddenly cried, shaking with anger. “I never should have failed you like this!” 

Lance was pulled away by one of the other knights - Elyan, probably, if the timbre of his voice was any indication. Merlin, meanwhile, was in shock. He had never witnessed Lancelot lose the tight grip he had on his temper. To think that it was directed back at himself, turned to self-loathing and blame, shook Merlin to his core. He _needed_ to reach out to his friend, _needed_ to reassure him and tell him he should forgive himself. But he was stuck, trapped, _useless-_

Warmth bloomed in his chest, right where the arrow had pierced him. Merlin felt the tingle of his own magic begin to fill him. It gathered tighter and tighter, warmer and warmer, until it was as though a star had nestled itself within his heart. _Tell them,_ he begged it helplessly, and his magic exploded outwards in a burst of golden light. 

Shouts filled the meadow as a wave of magic washed over the knights. Most of them spun in place, confused. Lance, however, had whirled to face Juniper. 

“Lance? What is it?” Percy asked him worriedly. “What was that?” 

But the knight didn’t seem to hear him. He _knew_ that magic. He’d felt it the time he faced down the griffin, the time Merlin bent the world to his will and restored the tear in the veil without a drop of blood spilled, the time the two of them overturned the Cup of Life and defeated the army of the undead. 

It was Merlin’s magic. Undoubtedly, undeniably his. Lancelot scarcely breathed as he reached up and placed his palm flat against Merlin’s chest. _Please, please,_ he begged the gods. _Please, one more miracle._

And then he laughed, sobbing, as he felt the steady thrum of Merlin’s heartbeat under his palm. 

The knights rushed over to catch him, his legs giving out amidst his relief and joy. “Lance?” Gwaine asked, wondering if he’d finally gone mad with grief. 

“He’s alive!” Lance exclaimed, still laughing and crying in equal measure. “Merlin, he’s- He’s alive!”

Gwaine rushed over to Merlin’s side and put a shaking hand over his chest, just like Lance. His eyes widened as his face lost all color. “By the gods,” he whispered. “Percy! Help me cut him down!” 

☽☉☾

  
  


The next few moments were chaos as Percival and Gwaine freed Merlin from the ropes that bound him to the saddle, then set him down on the grass next to where Lance had nearly fallen. Elyan grabbed his knife and handed it to Gwaine, who used it to hastily cut through his own cloak. 

Amidst the flurry of movements, Leon had roused the mourning king and helped him across the clearing to the horses. Now they both stood in shock at the scene unfolding before them. Elyan stood at Lance’s back, gripping his shoulder tight as the latter watched with tears streaming freely down his face. Gwaine and Percy were bent over Merlin, freeing him with a desperation that none had ever seen before. 

Finally, after much too long, the scraps of the cloak fell away, and Merlin was able to breathe deeply for the first time since before he'd been struck down. His eyes flew open, his irises sparkling liquid gold, as air rushed into his lungs in a great gasp. The blue sky above him was painfully bright after being blindfolded for who-knows-how-long, but luckily, it was quickly blocked as a familiar face came into view. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin rasped with a smile, and the man above him broke, hunching over him as he desperately clung to Merlin’s bloodstained tunic. 

“Don’t- _ever-_ do that again!” Gwaine cried between wet, shuddering breaths. 

Merlin swallowed thickly and laid his hand on top of Gwaine’s, and the man grasped it tight, as though it was the most precious thing in the world. 

The rest of the knights crowded around him, each of them unconsciously reaching for a hand, a shoulder, an arm - anything that carried Merlin’s pulse. Lance settled at his other side, opposite Gwaine, and Merlin turned his head towards him. 

“Merlin,” the knight whispered tremulously, his eyes wide. 

“Felt my magic, yeah?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, cheeky smile. Lance chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Only you, Merlin,” he said with deep fondness, watching as the swirling gold in his gaze gave way to clear, bright blue. His expression turned solemn. “Gwaine’s right, though. I don’t think any of us could take this happening to you again. Especially Arthur.”

Merlin’s breath caught. “Is he-?”

Lance looked behind Gwaine, seeing both Leon and the king standing just a few metres away. “He’s right here, Merlin. I think he’d like to see you, though.”

“I’d like to see the prat too,” Merlin said with another smirk. Lance ruffled his raven locks with a chuckle, then reluctantly left Merlin’s side. 

He approached Arthur and Leon with caution. “Sire?” he began, giving the king a verbal nudge. It seemed to work. Arthur snapped out of whatever trance his shock had put him into, and his gaze swung to Lance. “Merlin has, well, demanded your presence,” he said with a soft smile. 

Arthur’s eyes went wide, and he began to tremble. “I- I don’t know if I can-”

“You _can,_ Arthur,” Leon encouraged him. “And you will, or so help me God, I’ll have Percy pick you up and dump you on top of him.”

That seemed to do the trick. Still shaking, Arthur gathered his courage and crossed the small distance that remained between himself and Merlin. The knights still by the servant saw his approach and backed away respectfully. He dropped to his knees where Lance had been, feeling his mouth go dry as Merlin turned to him. 

“Hi, Arthur,” Merlin said softly, offering him a small smile. There was still blood on Merlin’s face from when he was dying, and his clothes were ruined by the dark, rust-red stains that his wound had caused, but there was color in his cheeks and life in his eyes. Dark smudges ringed his lower lids, revealing just how much his own death and subsequent resurrection had taken out of him. “Did I miss anything?” 

Arthur stayed silent. Instead of answering, he slowly raised a bare hand to Merlin’s cheek and cupped his face, mirroring his actions from the night before. Merlin looked up at him, a bit confused. But then Arthur’s thumb began to stroke Merlin’s cheekbone as the king continued to gaze in disbelief down at him, and Merlin realized what he was doing. 

Merlin’s expression softened. “I’m really here, Arthur. I swear.” He placed his hand on top of Arthur’s, and he heard Arthur inhale sharply. “Feel my hand?” he asked, and Arthur nodded frantically. “If this was a- a dream, or a hallucination, you wouldn’t be able to touch me. But you can. That means this is real. I’m real, and I’m alive, and I’m never going to leave you again.” 

“Merlin,” Arthur whimpered, his voice as broken as the expression on his face. The warlock gently pulled him down towards his chest, and Arthur buried his face in Merlin’s collar as he pressed an ear to his heart. 

_Thum-thump. Thum-thump._

A heartbeat, steady and strong and _alive._ Arthur closed his eyes as more tears ran down his cheeks. 

“Gods, Merlin,” he gasped, shuddering under the weight of his whirling thoughts and emotions. 

“I’m here, Arthur. I’m here.” 

The king sat up and met Merlin’s eyes, his gaze full of grief and fondness and relief and joy. 

Most of all, though, it was full of love. 

They both knew there was still a lot they had to talk about. Merlin would need to be told about the legalization of magic, for starters. And Arthur had a feeling that, once Merlin knew that Arthur knew of his magic, he was going to tell Arthur all about how he’d undoubtedly used it to save him over and over again. There was also the matter of telling their friends back in Camelot what had happened during the hunt, plus Merlin’s apparent immortality.

As he bent over and pressed his lips against Merlin’s, who returned the gesture gladly and without hesitation, Arthur knew that nothing was as important as this. Here, in the grassy meadow with the early spring sun shining down on them, everything could wait. 

Everything, except a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> A (1) in my Inbox gives me life.


End file.
